Second Hand
by Chibi-Ra-Chan
Summary: France didn't expect a second chance at being a parent, especially to England's estranged little brother. Likewise, Sealand never thought that  Arthur's almost lover would give him the home he'd always wanted. Now with 300 percent more Bad Touch Trio!
1. I

Second Hand

By Chibi Ra Chan

Rated K+

Pairing; None really, Maybe a little FrUK

* * *

He sees the little boy sitting outside the meeting room. The poor thing is always sitting out there, waiting to get into the meeting, to earn his own name, his own seat among them; a true nation. France always notices him, even if others do not, or pretend not to.

He watches week after week as the tiny child sits on a bench, his tiny legs swinging back and forth hoping someone will ask him to join.

They never do.

He reminds him so much of Arthur when he was a child, that unkempt blonde hair, the pushing attitude, and those horrid eyebrows. Sealand was truly a blast from the past.

The Frenchmen felt bad for the boy, he just wanted someone to see him and it was incredibly unlikely that England could, or would, give him the attention he so sought. Arthur was never good with child nations and if his looks were any indication of his attitude, the two were probably too alike to ever really get along.

He felt bad, he truly did. He had a firm belief that everyone in the world should have a least one person who loved them. Life was much too cruel to face alone.

The least he could do was talk to him. Who knew what that alone could help with?

Besides, Francis had always had a soft spot for lonely kids.

* * *

"Bonjour petit Pierre!" came a loud and sing-song voice.

Sealand wouldn't have answered to that but the hallway was empty except for the two of them. The world meeting had let out of lunch and all the other nations had left to get something to eat before America had more 'ideas' to discuss.

Still Peter looks around to make sure it is him who the man is talking too. "You mean me?"

"Yes you." He says with a smile. Peter looks at him skeptically. Why in the world was France talking to him? No one talked to him at world meetings, save for maybe Latvia, but he was under orders to stop acknowledging him.

"My name's Peter, not Pierre and stop saying stupid French stuff at me."

But Francis only smiles. "But where I come from 'Peter' is the same as 'Pierre'."

"Yeah well we're not there so call me by my correct name okay!" The child snaps. Peter pretends that he hadn't just sounded an awful lot like England.

Honestly the name mix up didn't upset him all that much; today had just been a bad day.

Stupid England left him at home even though he begged him to take him to the meeting, causing him to get here late.

Then they wouldn't let him into the meeting, so he sat outside the doors sulking. None of this was exactly new either, that was the part that upset him most. He was tired of no one paying attention to him, and he was taking his frustration out on the first person who talked to him.

Luckily, Francis doesn't let his words deter him, if anything they make only him smile more. "Fine, fine, Peter it is then." The tall nation squats down in front of him so that they are eyelevel. "How would you like to go to lunch with me Peter?"

Sealand is unnerved by the blonde's sudden interest in him. He'd be surprised by anyone's interest in him, but France in particular set alarms off in his head.

He had grown up listening to him and Jerk England fighting and arguing. Many times Arthur had made him listen to his numerous complaints about him and thus his head was filled with less than flattering images of the Frenchmen.

Sealand scoots away a bit and furrows his too think eyebrows in suspicion. "You're not trying to take advantage of me and wreck my virgin body are you? Cuz' I've heard stories about you."

Francis can hardly believe his ears.

"Y-you think I want to do what to your what?"

Is this what children think of him these days? True he enjoyed the carnal pleasures that life saw fit to bless him with but he would never mix that with children. He was many things, but an adolescent virgin body wrecker was not one of them.

"Hey I'm just asking. England says I should be weary of you and your hands. And that you're a frog. And that you're easy to get into bed when you're drunk. But that's beside the point and not to mention gross." Peter cringed a little at the thought.

"There are so many things wrong with everything you just said, but I am willing to overlook it because it is probably Angleterre's lack of parental grace that poisoned your mind."

Sealand shrugs and moves to get off the bench; Francis relents and stands, allowing the brash little boy some room. Obviously sweetness wasn't going to cut it with this one. Somehow France hadn't thought it would.

So instead he decides to go with plan b; bribery.

It worked well enough when Mathieu was a child.

When he had found the boy all those years ago, Canada hadn't wanted anything to do with anyone; he would trash his things and bite him all the time. At least until Francis had introduced him to refined maple syrup with sugar. Then the baby nation had been the gentlest creature he had ever known.

A part of him snickered at the fact that when Arthur had taken the boy away from him, France had neglected to tell him the secret to calming Canada down and the Brit still had the scars that stood testament to that.

But he digressed; the matter at hand was how to get Sealand to believe him when he said he had no intention of violating his 'virgin body' as he so tastefully put it.

"Here's the deal mon cher." The Frenchmen ignored the boy's face when he spoke French. "I am going to go across the street to that bakery and I am going to order two servings of delicious chocolate éclairs with some overly sweet frilly drinks to go with them."

Peter's eyes grew large. France could see his mouth practically watering. Chocolate, his one weakness. Such was the case with most people under the age of 13 he found.

"So if you happen to find yourself in the area in say, ten minutes, with a sweet tooth, then so be it. If not then cest la vie." With one final award winning smile Francis walked away, presumably to have delicious sweets and frilly overly sweet drinks.

* * *

Peter was torn on what to do.

Best case scenario; Delicious cream filled pastries with chocolate lacing and a brightly colored fruity drink.

Worst case scenario; Tied up with duct in the back of a white windowless van.

Dessert, rape, dessert, rape. This shouldn't be a hard decision.

But damn it, he was hungry! And France was being nice to him. The fact that he was talking to him had already put him ahead of many other nations on the 'People to spare when I become an empire' list.

"I'll give the bastard a chance." He mutters to himself, while walking toward to elevator to get to bakery France had told him about. "But if he tries anything, I'll kick him in the nads. Yeah, that'll show him!"

And that is how everything began; with a rapturous craving for chocolate pastries.

* * *

**Notes;**

I can't believe I am writing a PG story. I thought I had lost the ability. I find Sealand rather interesting to write. He's like a more hyper and bitter Korea.

This is not a Sealand/France story in case you were worried. It's more a of a feel good raising-a-trouble-child-with-a-heart-of-gold story. Please feel free to drop a review and tell me what you think; I'm super unsure about this one.

I don't know how to write a non-shipping story, so all feedback will help!

_Forever and Eternally,_

_-Ra_


	2. II

Second Hand

Chapter II

By Chibi Ra Chan

Rating K+

_Somehow destiny comes into play. These children end up with you and you end up with them. It's something quite magical. _

-Unknown

* * *

It is the final day of the marathon national trade negotiations meeting and it is also the fifth day that France and Sealand have had lunch together.

Peter won't admit it but the elder man can tell he is enjoying himself. It probably had something to do with the sweets he kept buying him, but he liked to think his charming personality had something to do with it.

"The meetings are ending today, I bet you'll be happy to go home." France says conversationally while sipping his coffee.

Peter pauses in his rapturous eating of a particularly delicious pink sprinkle doughnut and rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, I just can't wait." He says tartly with food in his mouth. France would indulge his snaky attitude, but not poor manners. Honestly didn't Angleterre teach him anything?

"Don't chew with your mouth open Pierre," He hands him a napkin. "With table manners like that one may question your upbringing, non?" The tiny nation swallows his food in one painful looking gulp and fixes his blue eyes on him.

"Don't call me that. And if you must be nosy, I hardly call living with Bastard-England something I want to get back too."

Francis ignores the first part of his statement and instead focuses on the later. "I know that Arthur is a bit surly to say the least but he isn't completely void of redeeming qualities." He takes a sip of his ice water while watching Peter fidget in his seat.

"You only say that because you sleep with him."

France grinned, it seemed that Peter wasn't as innocent as he had originally pegged him.

"True enough, you would know better than nearly anyone after all." Peter fake gagged and drank a bit more of whatever sugary concoction he had ordered. "But still, Arthur is just short tempered. And emotionally stunted. And vulgar. And unrefined, it's no wonder you eat food as if it is going to run away from you! Leave it to anglais to be such brutes, but I digress. It can't be so horrible."

The topic of his elder brother obviously made Sealand uncomfortable, but France had spent the last few days wondering why the blood was so bad between the two brothers and if he didn't ask now he wouldn't have another chance in quite a while.

"Arthur hates me. End of story. Can I get another soda?" the little blonde tries to change the subject.

"You've already had two." None the less he motions for the waitress to bring another. "And Angleterre doesn't hate you."

Sealand crosses his arms and looks away stubbornly. "It sure seems like it, he ignores me all the time."

"I'm sure he doesn't mean to, he probably has too much on his plate what with Amerique's constant antics and deplorable economy to worry about-"

The tiny nation interrupts him.

"It's always America and never me! He doesn't even like Arthur, why does he get so much attention!" He yells, slamming his hand down on the corner of the table with a strength that catches the Frenchmen so off guard that he can only stare for a moment in awe. Peter's usually chipper blue eyes are clouded in anger and what he supposes are unshed tears.

The look on his face in one that no child should know. He honestly thought that Arthur didn't like him, let alone love him. How horribly, horribly sad. France's expression softens even more when he sees the result of the micronation's outburst. "Peter, your hand, you're hurt."

Said boy cringes and holds his none bruised and sluggishly bleeding hand to his chest protectively. "It's nothing, I get hurt all the time. It's no big deal." His voice is full of false bravado, the same false bravado that Arthur used to use when his brothers picked on him.

Francis's heart goes out to the boy.

"That is nonsense. It is quite a big deal." He throws some Euro's onto the table, more than enough to pay for their meal, and without a word he picks up the tiny nation, throws him over his shoulder as if he is nothing more than a knapsack and begins to walk back to the hotel to fix up the boy's hand.

Peter, in all his eleven year old glory, is not amused at all.

"Hey let me go! My hand is hurt not my feet, I can walk on my own! Hey are you listening to me, you French bastard! Let me go! Bad touch! Bad touch!" He yells hoping someone would come to his aide, but no such thing happens.

A couple of restaurant goers look at them, but no one moves to help. They simply assume that he is a child who is upset about his parent making him leave.

It also didn't help that they were in Venice, Italy and Peter was screaming at them in English.

"What part of bad touch do you people not understand! My innocence could be getting stolen this very minute and you people are just bloody watching! Let me go Francis! LET ME GO!"

France doesn't stop despite the extremely strong blows to his back by a single tiny fist and the surprisingly strong kicks from his short legs. He clenches his teeth and keeps walking until eventually Sealand stops struggling and simply sulks in his arms.

* * *

"You didn't have to treat me like I was five." Peter sulks while sitting on the bouncy hotel bed in France's room.

France is nonplused by his words and he pours iodine on the cut. "You didn't need to throw an temper tantrum and yell 'Bad touch' either souris." Sealand cringes, but doesn't yell out at the stinging the disinfectant causes.

There are no words exchanged while Francis dresses his hand with fresh gauze. Thankfully, the injury wasn't as bad as he had thought, but it still needed to be bandaged.

He never left home without a first aid kit; one never knew what could happen in the world he justified. It didn't hurt to be prepared for anything.

As for the tiny-almost nation, he was something he definitely wasn't ready for.

France certainly could understand his contempt for the situation he was in. Many years after Mathieu had been taken from him, his once colony had told a very similar story of how England mourned over the loss of America.

'_I don't think he understood it either, but for some reason losing Alfred hit him hard. Something inside him broke, it was like when Alfred left he took a piece of Arthur with him. No matter how good a colony, brother or son I was, I couldn't quite fill in that missing piece.'_

It seemed that Peter couldn't either. That, or Arthur was afraid to let him.

"…Sorry."

That single word shakes him from his reverie. "Pardon?"

Sealand's cheeks flush adorably. "I said I'm sorry okay?" He hopped off the bed and faced the taller man looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry for throwing a temper tantrum and telling those people that you might be stealing my innocence."

France can't stop the grin that appears on his face "Apology accepted mon petit souris!"

"Quit it with the nicknames, I don't even know what they mean!" France only smiles wider and bends over to hug the boy. "Stop with the touchy feely stuff old man! This is why everyone thinks you're a pervert you know." Still he doesn't put up a fight, and even leans into the Frenchman's embrace a bit.

But not a lot. He wasn't going sot or anything!

After a moment, France lets go and pats him on the head. "That wasn't so bad was it?"

Peter rolled his eyes and looks at the clock and then at the door. If he didn't want to walk all the way back home than he had to go find Arthur before he left.

France guesses his thoughts and motions toward the door. "Let us go Sealand, you wouldn't want to worry your brother now would you?" Peter scoffs and lets out something that sound suspiciously like 'Yeah right'. He offers the child his hand to hold, but Peter has some dignity left thank you very much and he just walks ahead of the tall man.

France shrugs good naturedly. His hand is all bandaged and there has already been enough emotional enrichment for one day he supposes.

'_Baby steps.' _he thinks with a smile.

He spots England immediately when they reach the lobby; he is talking with Japan about something or other. After a moment Arthur finishes talking to Kiku and walks toward the exist of the hotel with only a slight nod in their general direction.

France only quirks an eyebrow.

Peter looks from Arthur to Francis a few times, trying to decide on what he should do. Francis notices the child's troubled expression, as if he wasn't sure of something, but does not press him. He had learned his lesson already; getting Peter to talk about things he isn't ready for wasn't a good idea.

But the micronation surprises him by taking a slip of paper out off the pocket of his shorts and pushing it into his hand.

"Just look at it okay?" He says softly, with a light tint to his cheeks, before running to catch up with his brother. He waves one last time flashing a grin.

France waves back, a bit confused Sealand was a strange child that was for sure, but he is smiling none the less. When the two Kirklands' are completely out of sight curiosity gets the better of him and he looks at the paper.

It is a website address.

'_How very, very strange indeed.'_

_

* * *

_

"What did I tell you about hanging around France?" Arthur says crossly when they are on the long car ride home. It had been a long day of reworking trade negotiations which ended up nearly the same as it was a week before and he felt a headache coming on.

"Not to hang out with France because he thinks with his little head not with his big head. I know, I heard you."

It seemed like his little brother only did things to rile him up and get under his skin.

"Then why were you talking with him? If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Honestly I don't get why you make things so difficult. The frog isn't someone you should associate with. And didn't I leave you home? You shouldn't have come, you only get upset and then I have to deal with it."

Peter doesn't say anything, he simply stares out of the window. He is tired and his hand hurts.

"Peter are you listening to me?"

"Yes. I hear you Arthur." the reply is quiet and accompanies a sigh, which is peculiar for the rambunctious boy. Usually Sealand bantered back and forth with him about absolutely everything. This quiet surrender threw him off.

"Uh….. So are you alright? He didn't do anything to you did he? Because I warned you."

"Francis didn't 'wreck my virgin body' if that's what you think. He bought me lunch. That's it."

Arthur wasn't so sure. "Then what is wrong with your hand?"

"I had an accident. It's nothing." He still doesn't look at him, he only clutches his injured hand closer to him in a protective manner. "It's nothing for _you_ to worry about _big brother_. I'm fine."

Arthur huffs at the obvious insult, but doesn't question him further. Why was it always so hard for him to talk to Peter?

England knew that he wasn't very good at expressing his feelings, but for some reason things were a hundred times worse when he tried to talk to Sealand. He couldn't put his finger on why, but everything the child did rubbed him the wrong way, it annoyed him, it drove him to sometimes resent the tiny thorn in his side.

Arthur knew he wasn't supposed to feel this way about his only direct little brother but he couldn't help it.

Neither one of them knew any other way to act.

* * *

France stares at the computer screen. It is nearly three in the morning and the uncomfortably bright light from the screen made his eyes water, but he simply wiped away the unwarranted tears, his mind whirling at the speed of light.

When Peter gave him the web address he hadn't been expecting it to be a online auction. One for him, literally.

The blonde had been unable to tear himself away from the monitor for hours. He just didn't know how to take this.

Peter had given him the website link, did that mean he wanted him to consider adopting him? France, despite his man depravities, didn't like to think of it as 'buying' the tiny nation. That brought too many misconceptions to the table.

He had a seedy enough reputation thank you very much, he didn't need to add 'buying an underage boy nation' to the list. That sounded all kinds of wrong.

But he digressed, that wasn't the issue at hand here.

He had thought that the boy was lonely, and he was, that much was clear after interacting him over the past few days. Peter has obviously miserable living in Arthur's house, living with the memory of a brother who probably didn't acknowledge him either.

But to actually put himself up for adoption was a different thing all together. According to the site there was only a few hours left in the auction and as of now there had only been one bidder. He wondered who the other bidder was.

Who else knew about this craziness? He scanned his brain for people who would possibly want to add to their borders or had an interest in Peter himself.

Certainly not England. America? No, Alfred probably didn't even know he existed. Japan? The idea of energetic Sealand living with the reserved Japanese man was laughable.

Russia? The thought made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ivan did want to 'become one' with the world, it stood to reason that he would go about it by obtaining smaller nations first.

He couldn't let such a thing happen, but dare he place a bid?

Francis had always had a soft spot for children and once upon a time the thought of having another child to take care of and raise would have thrilled him. But his life was so different now; he was in the public eye much more than in years past, he lived a rather 'on the go' lifestyle.

Despite the fact he still owned many lovely homes and villas across his country, more often then not he carried his life is a duffle bag and lived off hotel room service. His evenings were spent going to meetings and political get togethers; While his nights were usually spent in the embrace of a new suitor.

That was definitely not any way to raise a child, even if they were (kind of) a nation in their own right.

Would he be willing to give that up for a child whom he barely knew?

He imagines Ivan smiling his not quite happy smile of his and Sealand becoming the newest edition to the Baltic's. It was enough to make stronger nations than him cringe. His fingers answer for him as he presses the little blue button with a double click that echoes loudly in the near empty hotel suite.

France's stomach churns as he places a bid.

'_Well,' _he thinks _'this ought to be interesting, non?'_

_

* * *

_

Notes;

**i. Souris**- Similar to Francis's pet name for England which is 'Lapin' meaning 'Bunny' or 'Rabbit' he calls Peter 'Souris' which means Mouse. This will be covered a bit more in later chapters.

**ii. The auction-** I had Sweden still bid for Sealand, but France didn't consider him because he tend to stay away from him and his antics.

Ah, here I am writing fluff again. This chapter was a little angst, but we need to get the angst out of the way in order to get to more lulz. I find England and Sealand's relationship very interesting and I was happy I got to touch on it a bit. I also love the reoccurring joke that France is trying to do not good things to Sealand.

I predict that the bad touch trio should be reunited in the next chapter, so stay tuned! Please leave a review and tell me your thoughts as well, they make me happy.

_Forever and eternally,_

_-Ra_


	3. III

Second Hand

Chapter III

By Chibi Ra Chan

Rating; K+

_Passion makes idiots of the cleverest men, and makes the biggest idiots clever. _

**-Francois de La Rochefoucauld**

_

* * *

_

Sealand doesn't look at the auction.

Because he doesn't want to know, he really doesn't.

It's not that he's having second thoughts or anything like that. Although, if Arthur was even remotely technological savvy he would be concerned about his brother pulling up their wifi record and seeing it. But as it was Arthur had a hard enough time getting his cell phone off of speaker mode that him looking into their home network wasn't even a remote worry for the tiny sea.

It was more a matter of not wanting to see how many people bid, or worse, that no one had bid at all. That would just break his little heart.

It has been a month of anxious waiting for the time to run out.

Peter decided early on that he wasn't going to look at the site until after it was all over and sealed, that way he can tell himself that is was a dead heat, with everyone trying to outbid the others.

He had posted big neon flyers with the details of the auction, decorated with sparkles and puffy paint too, in the lobby of the hotel meeting room. It was kind of hard to miss so he was certain that at least a couple of nations had been interested.

And then he had gone and given France a direct link to the auction. He was the only person who he had approached personally.

He can't explain exactly why he did it exactly. A few weeks ago he would have never wanted, England's kinda sorta butt-buddy to adopt him, but things were different now.

France wasn't half bad; a lot better than England at least. He hadn't tried to assault him like others said he would and the Frenchmen had bought him lunch several times while listing to him complain about everything. No one had ever been interested in his day before and it felt nice to have someone pay attention to him other then when he attempted to sneak into a world meeting.

Peter had acted in the heat of the moment when he gave that link to Francis, but he couldn't say he regretted it.

Besides, even if France didn't bid someone would want to adopt him, right?

'Of course they do, I'm going to become a great empire, who wouldn't want to get in on that deal early?' he grins to himself and sets off looking for something edible that Arthur hadn't gotten too yet; his worries almost forgotten for now.

That is the funny thing about children, even when they are unsure of something they have such confidence that things will work out that they have the ability to believe what an adult never could.

They are lucky that way.

* * *

"Francis, I don't know if this is such a good idea." Speaks Antonio. Said man rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly, a nervous habit of his.

France had called him in the middle of the night, saying that he had put in a bid to buy England's little brother. Before that Antonio hadn't even know that Arthur had a little brother, let alone that France was considering adopting him.

Once the initial shock and confusion wore off the Spaniard had immediately demanded he rush to his home so that they could talk it over. When he finished talking to the sullen Frenchmen, he speed dialed a very groggy Prussia and demanded that he wake up from his sound sleep and come over as well

Two hours later they are sitting on his dated, yet comfortable, green couch, Gilbert curled up on the left, Antonio on the right and Francis in the middle; his head laying in Spain's lap and his legs draped over Prussia.

This kind of powwow wasn't new to them,

In fact something of this nature usually what happened whenever one of them had a problem;. They would all come to France or Spain's house, never Prussia's because Ludwig would never let them have any fun, pile onto a bed or couch, eat sweets and talk about the issue.

"What are you talking about, it's a great idea!" Gilbert nearly yells. "Franny loves kids and it's Arthur's little brat. How much more awesome could revenge get?"

"Don't call him a brat mon cher, that's mean." There is no real conviction behind his voice though. Francis sighs as Antonio runs his hands though his hair soothingly. This entire situation made him feel old and he didn't like it one bit.

"That's not the problem though. We all love children, but do you really think Francis lives the kind of uh, lifestyle, that is healthy for a child to be raised in?"

The other two members of the so called 'bad-touch-trio' stared at him as if he had grown another head. It was rare, but in some instances their brown haired nation could actually be rather prolific, like now.

"Shit, I didn't think of that. He's right though, you are kind of a tramp Franny."

"I didn't say tramp! Maybe a bit, 'inviting' or 'experienced' but not definitely not trampy."

France fought the urge to smoother his friends with one of the ordinate couch pillows. "Such high opinions you have of me." He comments moodily.

The albino man shrugs. "Well it is what it is, if you're going to raise another kid you can't be such a pairing bicycle."

"PRUSSIA!" Spain yells horrified, the white haired German shrugs again.

"What? It's true, we all know it. He gets around, nothing wrong with that."

"That doesn't mean you can call him a 'pairing bicycle' Eso grosero!"

"Don't start yelling your dumb Spanish at me Toni!"

"Take that back you, uh, you not awesome person!"

"You take that back you tomato eating fruitcup!"

France tunes them out at this point and sulk to himself.

Okay, so he was a bit of a tart, that was nothing new. But when he had raised Mathieu and Lione he had stopped such selfish behavior, or at least curbed it. He wasn't completely dependent on physical gratification that he couldn't live without it.

And truth be told, during those years he found he didn't need the carnal pleasures to make him happy.

Watching Mathieu wobble up and down the stairs with faithful Kumajiro behind him or waking up to Leone trying to bake a cake while completely dousing herself in flour had filled that empty space inside him better than any tryst ever could.

He loved children, he loved being the one to expose them to so many new things, to be the person they ran to when they were happy or cried for when they were sad. Even though Sealand wasn't as young as Canada or Seychelles when he has adopted them, he could still be the one who looked after him, the one who listened to his issues, the one to teach him proper table manners finally.

Still, something nagged at him.

"Guys," He says quietly and thoughtfully.

The two fighting nations stop trying to out yell the other and look down at the suddenly morose blonde.

"…am I too old to raise a child?"

There is silence for only a moment before they start speaking rapidly to try to reassure him.

"No, no no! Francis mi corazon, you're not old at all!"

"Dude not even! You're too awesome to be old already, I mean not as awesome as me, but still pretty boss."

"-Still as lovely as ever! Any child would be lucky to be raised by you!"

"-And besides if you're old then that makes me old. And I'm too amazing to be old already!"

Francis sits up. "Are you sure? What if I can't do it anymore what if I am unable to carefully mold a young mind into a respectable and gentlemanly nation?" His bottom lip trembles slightly.

"We'll help you then!" Spain chimes in taking one of the blonde's soft hands in his own. His green eyes look reassuring.

Prussia pounds his fist against his chest and grins cockily. "We'll be the most awesome uncles that little brat could possibly want!"

France actually feels himself tear up. "Prusse, Espange, Thank you." In matter of moments the three men are hugging each other not at all bothered by their lack of masculinity.

Francis grinned.

They maybe completely ridiculous, selfish, dimwitted and odd, but in time like these he remembers why the three of them were best friends. Even when they fought against each other and when they hated each other, they always hade each other's backs when it was all over.

They were the best, worst friends a trampy Frenchmen could ask for.

"Ugh, you three are like fucking girls." The trio all glance to the side to see a more angry than usual Romano is glaring at them in distaste. "Look at yourselves; laying on the couch in your bunny slippers and matching pajama, talking about your stupid feelings like it's a lifetime original movie. Have you no pride?"

Ever used to Lovino's temper and presence, they don't move to untangle from their embrace, although Prussia nonchalantly attempts to wipe what was definitely not tears from his sanguine eyes. Spain laughs a bit and France simply smiles.

Prussia is the first to comment. "Whoa, hold on for one minute you little asshole." he pauses for dramatic effect, a bad habit of his they all know. "These are baby chick slippers, which are much manlier, not bunny slippers. Get your facts straight."

The three friends look at each other. "Aw, you don't like them Lovi?" Spain says sadly. He quite liked his pink pajama set thank you very much.

"Don't listen to him Antoine they look adorable on us." France chimes in a moment later, patting the Spaniards head in a placating way. He had been the one who had bought them all a matching set last Christmas; his was a very appealing shade of mint green.

"He's just jealous that he didn't get a pair too Toni. After all we look pretty boss." Gilbert nods his head in agreement while gesturing to his own pajamas a perfect replica of Spain and France's, only blue.

"That is not the goddamn point!" Romano groans while slapping his forehead in frustration. This is why he hated when France and Prussia came over, they made Spain even stupider than usual. "Grow a spine and be fucking men for once, jesus. You obviously want to adopt the kid, just fucking do it already and get the hell out of my hair!"

Again there is silence in Spain's living room.

Then the Frenchmen turns toward his host with a serious look. "Do you think he's angry because he wants to be an uncle as well?"

"Obviously." Gilbert says nodding seriously as well.

"That's the only thing that make sense to me." Antonio quips.

"Don't worry ma petit Romano, I let you be an uncle, you're family too. Angry family, but family none the less.

Romano nearly screams and storms out of the living room.

"When we get the new kid, we need to make sure he doesn't turn out like him. " Prussia says sagely.

France and Spain can only nod in agreement.

* * *

**Notes;**

**I. Eso grosero!**" Spanish; roughly "That's rude!"

**II. Leone-** The French equivalent of Lenore. I read a story in which Seychelles was called Leone before and for some reason it stuck with me, so here you have it.

**III. Antoine**- French equivalent of 'Antonio'

**IV. Mi Corazon** - Spanish "My heart/love"

* * *

This chapter was amazingly fun to write. I think I'm in love with the bad touch trio all over again. In my head!canon they are such girls, but it works for them. I pity poor Romano for having to deal with them all the time.

I promise we'll get to the actual adoption part next chapter, I just want to set everything up correctly. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review to tell my any comments/suggestions! I value my readers opinions very highly!

_Forever and Eternally,_

_-Ra_


	4. IV

Second Hand

By; Chibi Ra Chan

Chapter Four

Rating; K+

"_It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."_

_-Johann Schiller_

_

* * *

_

Sweden was a quiet man by nature, but that didn't mean he did not have ideas and wants. He was every bit astute as the other nations, probably more so in fact. He saw the neon green sign hanging haphazardly in the hotel lobby and he had been curious to see what it was about.

It was a tiny would be nation, Sealand, who was auctioning himself off. There was something very sad about the situation and after some intense thought Berwald decided to place a bid.

It wasn't much at all, in fact he could afford it with his own personal money, but that wasn't his reasoning. Things between him and Finland had been dull as off late. Maybe having something, or someone rather, to bring hem together would help it.

The large Nordic nation says nothing about this to his quote on quote wife though, he decides to wait until it was certain. So silently he waits as the days of the auction slip away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

Then a week before the auction is to end there is another bidder.

Berwald isn't sure how to take this, who else would be interested in a tiny, speck on the map, island?

He is fully prepared to make another bid, but surprisingly enough it is Tino who inadvertently stops him when they are making dinner.

"-So I heard this interesting story today. Apparently France has taken a liking to England's little brother, you know the one that sits outsides the meeting all the time?" Sweden pauses in chopping the vegetables for a moment, silently telling the shorter man that he is listening.

"Rumor has it that the kid put himself up for auction. Isn't that odd? Anyways Francis put in a bid for the boy, Sealand I think his name is. Isn't that sweet? "

Berwald send him a look that was only translatable as _'Are you crazy?'_ by centuries of familiarity. Finland laughs and it makes the once Vikings cheeks bleed red. He quickly returns to his chopping.

"You weren't there for when England and France found baby America. He loves children, it's always made him more reasonable to deal with." He shrugs and places four plates on the table; one for both of them and for Latvia and Estonia as well. "Besides can you imagine how lonely life must be with no one around for more then a few nights? We're lucky we have Eduard and Ravis, but poor Francis has no one."

"Mmmmph, I see."

Sweden smiles inwardly. Tino was right, they still had Estonia and Latvia to look after; Denmark as well, despite the fact that he was grown that man always go himself into trouble. They still had a family.

He decides that he doesn't need anymore than that, and lets Francis have the winning bid. Everyone deserved to be a least a bit as happy as they were after all.

* * *

__

Peter doesn't have very much to bring with him.

He has two small suitcases; one filled with his clothing his usual outfit, socks, underwear, his favorite pair of pajamas, his sole pair of dress pants and the various hats he's collected over the years.

The second suitcase isn't very full; but it contains the few things that made England's house feel slightly like home; a couple of drawings he had placed on the refrigerator, the yellow embroidered blanket that Arthur had made for him when he was five, a few knick-knacks and his laptop.

Sealand thought it sad that his entire life could fit into these small boxes.

The morning is like any other though, mute sunlight streams into the flat as Peter quietly walks down the stairs. He is careful to skip the third step from the bottom because it is squeaky and waking up his brother was the last thing he needed right now.

He sets his suitcases by the door and roams the house for what maybe the last time. He had never particularly liked the house he and Arthur shared, it was old and got horrible wifi, but it was the only home he had ever known.

Suddenly, he felt bad about leaving it. _'This makes no sense.' _he tells himself, _'I hate it here, I can't wait to leave. So why do I feel so sad?'_

He walks into the kitchen, lost in thought, when a slight cough jolts him from his reverie. _'Crap! Stupid England is awake.'_

Said stupid Englishmen looks at him suspiciously from over his cup of tea. "What are you doing up so early?"

Peter's heart races. He hasn't told Arthur about the adoption, he didn't want him to somehow stop it before it was completely official. And if he knew his older brother as well as he thought he did, he would never let him go if he told him now. Especially not to France of all places.

So he blinks and wills himself to speak. "Nothing. I'm going out." It's not exactly a lie, but it isn't the truth either.

Arthur gives him an odd look, as if he isn't sure what to say to him.

The pair of brothers, so alike yet so utterly different, simply stare at each other, mint green meeting cerulean blue. The elder of the two opens his mouth and Sealand can practically hear him asking _'Where? How long? With who?'_

And in truth he almost wants him to ask.

For the longest time that was all the small island nation wanted, for his brother to notice him, to care about him. He could live if the rest of the world didn't acknowledge him, he just wanted one person to want him.

Northern Cypress had Turkey, Wy had Australia, even shy Seborga had the Italy brothers.

And he has no one.

Not here anyways because instead of asking, England's mouth snaps shut and he nods briskly. "Don't make a mess and expect me to pick it up." He mutters irritably and turns back to his newspaper.

Sealand clenches his jaw. _'He'll never change, we'll never see eye to eye. But that's fine, I'll change. I'll find my own family, one without jerk England.' _he reassures himself as he leaves the kitchen, dons his light blue jacket and opens the front door, suitcases in hand.

"Bye Arthur." he whispers dejectedly to the large, yet empty, living room before stepping out and shutting the door for the last time.

* * *

Arthur hears the door quiet shut with a barely audible _klink _and cradles his head in his hands, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

He had wanted to ask him where he was going, to make sure he wasn't doing anything unsafe, to protect him. Even if they didn't get a long he was still his little brother. He never wished for anything to happen to the brat.

Yet he couldn't say it.

He couldn't bring himself to call out for the child and he doesn't know why. It pains him to no end that he can't talk to this tiny little scrap of land. He can't keep putting it off like this. Peter was behaving weirder as each day passed. The odd exchange between them on the ride home last month was still fresh in his mind.

Sealand wasn't happy. And neither was England for that matter.

'_I'll ask when he gets home.' _He thinks to himself with resolve. _'I'll ask him about where he was when he comes home.'_

He really would have this time.

* * *

The week left since his bid goes by faster than Francis would like them too.

Despite the pep-talk from his best friends (and kinda from Lovino) he is still nervous about the entire ordeal. Chiefly what Arthur would do when he found out.

The blonde man cringes and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

Somehow he didn't think that his almost-lover-almost-enemy would be very happy with him; about this. If Francis knew Arthur as well as he thought he did then the British man would take him buying Peter as a stab at him. He would see it as him ripping his only baby brother from his arms, even if he didn't particularly like Sealand in the first place.

This could possibly ruin their almost civil relationship, but the deed was done, the euros were spent and all that was left was too pick up his newly acquired 'son'.

"Stop shuffling like that, you look like you have to piss." Prussia says brashly while adjusting his sunglasses. The white haired man didn't seem to care that they were inside a train terminal in Paris on a cloudy day and there was absolutely no need for the eyewear.

"Classy as always Gil." Spain sighs.

"You know it." He replies obviously not catching the sarcasm in the Spaniards' voice. "So when's the brat supposed to show up?"

"Don't call him a brat. Anyway his train should be pulling in any moment now." France intones absently. He is still thinking about the various way that Arthur could murder him for this.

Antonio watches as the Frenchmen fiddles with the black scarf wrapped around his neck and he hears the telltale tapping of his foot against the marble floor of the train station. He knows that despite his assurances that he was fine and that he was ready, he was a nervous wreck.

In a comforting way Spain smiles and takes his friends hand in his own. "It'll be fine. Don't be so nervous." France squeezes his hand tightly.

"I can't help it. It has been a long time and Arthur will….." He trails off and looks at the terminal gate, not really seeing anything.

"Pfft, Arty will get over it, from what you've told us, he barely remembers the kid is there. Hell, I didn't even know he existed until last month." Gilbert chimes in. He too can tell that France was super bummed about how Mr. caterpillar eyebrows would take this. "Dude, get it together. You wanna wear my bad ass shades, will that make you feel better?" The white haired man asks in an odd gesture of kindness.

France doesn't respond, but his foot tapping has gotten louder and more panicked.

"Train 37B Route 4, Shuttle Anglais to Paris has docked. Please allow time for passengers to disembark. Train 37B Route 4, Shu-" the intercom blares loudly overhead.

Numbly the blonde nation pulls the paper with Sealand's train information out of his pocket.

Train 37B

Route 4

From English Shuttle Station to Paris

Estimated time of arrival: 1:17 pm

The other two members of the so called 'Bad Touch Trio' looked nervously at each other when France's eye began to twitch.

"Do you think he's okay?" Spain asks cautiously, watching his friends have a mild panic attack.

Prussia shakes his head and whispers back. "Nah, just look at him; he's clearly trippin balls."

"What should we do?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"You really aren't helping Gilbert."

"Oh yeah, cuz you're doing so much."

"I am trying to be comforting!"

France breaks their argument by abruptly turning to face them. "I can't do this." He says gravely and makes a run for the exit of the train station.

Antonio and Gilbert immediately grab his arms, stopping his would be fleeing.

"Francis, querido, you can't run away."

"Not running, it's a tactical retreat mon cher."

"But Piedro is on his way right now!"

"I've reconsidered. I'm too old for this. I can't deal with another child right now, I can barely deal with myself."

Prussia has had enough of this. If there is one thing that the white haired man can not stand, it is cowardice.

He steels his stance and takes both of France's shoulders holding him steady. "Jesus Francis, this is why everyone thinks the French are pansies! France stills his squirming for a moment. "You need to calm your ass down, the brat is almost here."

Once again, Francis's navy blue eyes panic and he makes another run for the door, but Gilbert will have none of that. So he slaps him.

"Ow!"

"Get a hold of yourself man! Look you're responsible for this kid now. It is going to be hard. You're going to have to stop being so sleazy and selfish. Which just may kill you. I'm not going to lie, it's going to suck, trust me. But you've got me and you have Spain, and we'll be there to make sure you don't screw this kid up beyond repair. Alright?"

The blond nation nods a bit shakily. And looks toward Spain. Said nation smiles widely and places a hand on his shoulder. "Between the three of us, we've raised more kids than anyone since Tio Roma. We'll be fine."

"Mon amis…" France intones, a tear forming in his eye. He slings his arms around each of their necks. "I don't know what I would do without out you two." And the statement is truly heartfelt.

"Man hug?" Prussia asks.

"Man hug." The blond and brunette reply instantly.

If Romano were here, he would roll his eyes at the sight of them; standing in the middle of a train terminal crying and engaging in what Prussia had so elegantly called a 'man hug'.

"I'm almost afraid to ask which one of you adopted me." Comes a small, sarcastic voice behind them.

There stands Sealand, in a light blue peacoat, a sailors hat trying in vain to contain his wild sandy blonde hair and two small brown suitcases clutched in his hands.

France smiles and turns around, before kneeling at the child's height. "That would be me Souris."

The simply stare at keep other for a tense moment. Child and adult, once empire and tiniest of nations, suddenly family members. It is a lot for both to take in.

Tentatively, France reaches out and readjusts the hat on the child's head. Sealand eyes him skittishly, but does not turn him away.

The little boy, no older than eleven reminds him so much of Arthur at this age that it is almost painful. _'But a little pain is good non?' _he thinks to himself while smiling lightly. _'If only to remind us that good things can still happen.' _Adjusting finished, France's fingers stay splayed in his hair running circles in a comforting manner.

"I have adopted you." He mummers the obvious. "That makes us family now."

The word 'family' seems to create mixed feelings in the boy as his eyes brighten up, but his muscles tense nervously. "I guess so. Does that mean I have to call you dad?"

France grins and laughs heartily. "Not if you don't want to. But your elder siblings still do sometimes."

"Yeah right. England would sooner play the banjo before calling you dad. Do you know how weird that sound by the way, because you guys are all touchy feely with each other?"

"The kids' got you there Franny!" Prussia cackles somewhere behind him.

"Not Angleterre. Although I will have you know that on more than one occasion Arthur has called me that-" Peter sticks out his tongue in revulsion. "But that is neither here nor there. I was talking about your other siblings."

The young island gives him a blank look.

"Have you really not met the others? America, Canada, Australia?"

"I've seen Alfred once." He says with a shrug and Francis is reminded that the only memories he had of America were of Arthur passing him over for the American. He truly didn't have anyone!

"That will not do! I will make sure you meet them, as well as your new big sisters as well."

"Really?" Peter tries his hardest to keep a smile from forming on his lips, but it is in vain. He had always wanted siblings, but he had never thought to consider England's other once colonies as people who would want to be around him. The thought of suddenly having a large family made his head spin.

France's heart melts a bit as he watches the smile work it's way onto the irritable child's face. So much so that he can not stop himself from hugging the boy. "Hey! What are you doing?" Sealand squeaks. His cheeks bleed red as the Frenchmen envelops his completely in his arms.

Francis can't help but cry a bit, his earlier worries completely forgotten now that the boy was actually here. His heart nearly flies when after a fair amount of struggling Peter's own tiny arms wrap round him as well. "D-don't cry stupid." he mutters weakly.

"I'm very happy you are here Peter." Francis whispers into the child's hair soothingly. "So very, very happy."

He almost swears that he hears a _'Me too.' _in the middle of Sealand's barely contained hiccups and tiny fingers knot in the fabric of his shirt.

It is a beautiful moment, the beginning of a strange new chapter in both nation's lives.

"Isn't that sweet Gilbert?" Antonio sighs contentedly at the sight in front of him.

Gilbert shrugs, but he is grinning slightly. "Yeah, yeah it's cute. Whatever. Can we go? I'm hungry."

Spain elbows his white haired friend in the ribs good naturedly. "You mean you miss Hungary don't you Gil?"

The one nation laughs nervously, the sound is loud and nasally. "W-what? That's stupid I don't miss that violent chick at all. Wha-why would you say that?"

By this time, Francis and Peter are paused in their hug and are now watching Gilbert trying to convince them, and himself most likely, that he didn't have a crush on Elizaveta.

It is Antonio's turn to grin. "Prussia and Hungary sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"Shut the hell up! I'll murder your face for saying that!" the German's face is redder than any of them have ever seen it.

Sealand tilts his head to the side and looks seriously at France. "They're not living with us, are they?"

"Non, they are not."

"Thank god."

"Well, they are your unofficial uncles now." France says thoughtfully.

Peter cringes. "Do they have to be?"

The Frenchmen laughs and stands. He picks up both of Peter's suitcases with ease. "Yes. They are my best friends, you'll get used to them and their fighting. They're idiots, but they are my idiots. Our idiots really."

"I was afraid of that."

"Shall we go home." He hold out his hand and surprisingly enough Sealand takes it.

"Yeah, lets go. Maybe we can ditch tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum on the way."

Spain stops calling Prussia a 'stuck up albino cupcake head' in order to giggle. "Aw~! Isn't he cute/ He's just like Romanito at that age!"

Gilbert too stops trying to give the Spaniard a noogie in order to retort. "Take that back you brat! You have to address me as 'The great and awesome uncle Gilbert!"

"Fat chance of that happening old man. I don't take orders from cupcake heads!" He taunts back, easily slipping into this strange family of sorts.

"Cupcake head! Who are you calling a cupcake head brat? Wait, what the hell does that even mean?"

France smiles, because Sealand is laughing and for the first time in years they are both truly happy.

* * *

Notes;

I can not believe how long this took me to write. I think I just forgot about it for six months. My deepest apologies for the super long wait. There is only a little bit more serious stuff, before it's back to being 95% lulz. Thanks so much for reading!

_Forever and Eternally,_

_-Ra_


End file.
